


Make My Wish Come True

by illyriazshell



Series: The Honeymoon Interludes [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Clothing Kink, M/M, Murder Husbands, Possessive Hannibal, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Finale, Sassy Will Graham, Semi-Public Sex, The essence of role-playing without explicit commitment to it, bizarre arrested development reference for my own amusement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5561971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyriazshell/pseuds/illyriazshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal takes Will shopping for Christmas, and Will finds a way to make the experience enjoyable for them both. </p><p>Can be read as a one-shot, but this follows my post-finale fic <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4791848/chapters/10966493">As Long As We're Going Down</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make My Wish Come True

**Author's Note:**

> This is a (belated) Christmas gift to "Molly the Lolly's Lesbian BFF." She suggested this after I finished [As Long As We're Going Down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4791848/chapters/10966493) and I figured it would work perfectly as my attempt at Christmas fluff (it's still not particularly fluffy, but I tried). Thanks hun for being there in 2015; my enjoyment of Hannibal/Hugh this year would not have been the same without you :* <3
> 
>  **PSA:** Working retail through the holidays sucks enough without having to endure these kinds of shenanigans, please do not try this in a store, etc.

The bell chimed overhead as Will opened the heavy wooden door to the shop. 

Underground in a stone building that was likely centuries old, there had been no sign over the door and nothing in the windows to indicate what lay inside. Tucked away in an alley off a street with almost no pedestrian traffic, even during one of the busiest shopping days of the year, it was clearly an establishment that catered exclusively to a clientele who already knew of it’s existence.

Which did not mean they did not cater to a holiday crowd. The first sight Will was met with was an overwhelmingly large Christmas tree, elegantly decorated in whites and golds, accented in doves and angels. Wreaths and bows were everywhere and in the two narrow doorways, low enough that even Will would need to duck to pass through them, were garlanded to match the tree.

The door clicked shut, the bell ringing again, and Hannibal arrived beside him. Dusting off the light layer of snow off his sleeve, the larger man checked his wristwatch.

“Two-twenty-nine,” he confirmed, pleased. “Right on time.”

Will raised his brow but said nothing. Hannibal had been radiating anticipation since Will had woken up that morning, and it had ramped-up to near unbearable levels as they had turned onto the nearby street. Will had purposefully not asked, knowing that Hannibal had been eagerly waiting for him to do just that. However, as they both stood in the cramped entrance-way that gave no clues as to what lay deeper inside, he had to admit his curiosity was peaked.

Both Will and Hannibal were now on the FBI’s Top 10 Most Wanted list, and as such, hadn’t been out in public together for nearly six months. The only reason they had risked coming north at all was both former inmates had admitted to going somewhat stir-crazy trapped in their Mediterranean sea-side hideaway, and Will had offhandedly mentioned that it felt wrong to go without snow on Christmas.

Besides, they’d agreed it wouldn’t hurt to leave their calling card hundreds of miles from where they were normally in hiding. A tableau befitting the holiday season as a not-so-secret Santa gift for their old friend Jack. They already had a notoriously despicable human trafficker in mind for such an occasion, and intended on procuring him the next day, on Christmas.

A moment later, Will snapped back to himself as an older gentleman came shuffling through the left doorway. A note of recognition beneath his thick glasses as he saw Hannibal. He gave a warm smile, entirely genuine, as they both exchanged a handshake and greetings in Italian.

“Benvenuto,” he said, taking Will’s hand. “Mi chiamo Vito.”

Either Vito did not know quite how dangerous the pair of them were, or he did not care. What was evident was that Hannibal trusted him well enough to risk bringing Will there with him, and therefore Will easily slipped into a cordiality befitting the occasion.

After speaking for a few more moments while Will waited patiently, only able to identify the odd word, the man lead them back through the left doorway, up a long, narrow flight of wooden stairs.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” he muttered as he ascended the steps behind Hannibal. “Why are we here?”

Will didn’t need to see Hannibal’s face to hear the smile in his voice.

“It is customary in many European countries that gifts be exchanged on Christmas Eve,” Hannibal replied, adding nothing further.

Will simply narrowed his eyes at the vague answer.

When they reached the top of the stairs, their coats were taken by two more employees; an attractive middle-aged woman named Bianca and a young man with slicked-back hair named Blaine. Will tried not to bristle as he shook their hands; they spoke English and there was a look of recognition from both that was not accompanied by the personal familiarity Vito had greeted Hannibal with moments before.

Hannibal caught Will’s eye, telling him non-verbally not to worry, that they were safe, that neither employee would risk exposing them.

Will wondered how generous their commissions must be.

They were lead into an oval, windowless room. A pair of well kept antique couches lined the wall on one side, and on the other, a small enclave was sectioned off with a crisp, tasteful white curtain. As Will circled around, he spotted a long, full clothing rack against the far wall, and in the center was a small, raised platform framed with a triptych of mirrors. 

Hannibal uttered something to Bianca and she nodded, siding up beside Will with a measuring tape and urging him forward, up onto the platform.

“Hann-“ Will started, startled enough to almost forget their current aliases before realizing that they probably didn’t need them in this place. He shrugged it off, trying not to fight against the woman’s arms around him as she quickly took his measurements. “Thank you, but I already have a suit.”

“Yes,” Hannibal agreed, approaching him. “And you’ve worn it wonderfully, both times you’ve had the opportunity since I first purchased it for you.”

His attention on Will faltered for a quick second Bianca called out the measurements to her male counterpart. Hannibal’s mouth quirked upwards at the numbers. Will’s chest and shoulders had filled out several inches since they had begun sparring everyday, and Hannibal’s lips gave a small twitch of pride.

“However,” Hannibal continued, “One suit does not a wardrobe make.”

He walked over to the long rack of clothing, fingers delicately grazing some of the fabrics there. Will’s eyebrows shot up as he realized what Hannibal was implying a second before he said it aloud.

“My gift to you is to assist in completing that wardrobe.”

Hannibal plucked a ribbed navy blue sweater off the rack and brought it to Will, holding it up against his front, unabashedly pleased in whatever he was seeing as he did so.

“What’s wrong with my current wardrobe?” Will balked. “It’s not as if I’m exclusively wearing Carhartt anymore.”

In truth, his indignation was voiced more for the rush of challenging Hannibal’s assertions than any real offence taken. Since they had fled America, Will hadn’t had much of a wardrobe to speak of in their warmer climate hideaway beyond a robe, a couple short-sleeve button-downs, light khakis and a few pairs of linen shorts. Still, it was not yet in his nature to make anything easy for Hannibal, and he’d be damned if that changed just because it was Christmas.

“Your taste in fashion has indeed developed admirably under my influence,” Hannibal conceded as he handed the sweater to Blaine before picking out a pair perfectly sized grey dress pants. He held them up to Will casually, nodding, before handing them off too. “But, as in any pursuit, there is always room for improvement.”

“How generous of you,” Will retorted dryly. “I’m embarrassed to be caught without a gift to reciprocate.”

Hannibal smiled smugly at Will as he stood on the platform, tugging a burgundy scarf he’d picked out from the rack off his shoulder.

“On the contrary,” he said, looping the scarf around Will’s neck and pulling it taut, reveling in the irritated look the shorter man was shooting up at him. “The far greater gift will be for me, as you indulge me in this.”

Hannibal’s delight at the prospect was palpable. He didn’t merely want to take Will shopping with their endless well of ill-begotten funds, shower him with gifts as might a sugar daddy, a role he was cheerily playing up for the benefit of the associates. No, he had clearly been fantasizing about this for a while.

Hannibal wanted Will to put on a show.

Will bit his lip and eyed his counterpart, considering.

“One might wonder if the promise of a holiday hunt was merely a ruse,” he whispered, low enough for just Hannibal to hear, “An excuse to bring us here, for this.”

Hannibal smirked. “I often have many agendas for any one thing I propose. Rarely do any of them benefit just one of us.”

His tone was laced with suggestion, and he brought his hand to cup Will’s cheek, a familiar, tension-relieving gesture.

 _Cheater_.

But even as Will softened at the comforting touch, he remained firm in his convictions.

“I retain veto power,” he said, resolute.

He tried to ignore how breathless he sounded.

“As in anything,” Hannibal agreed, equal parts amusement and appreciation.

Moments later, Will pulled back the curtain and stepped forward onto the platform, donning the blue sweater and grey pants. Like a deer caught in headlights, Will froze when he was greeted with a rumble of approval from the small crowd that awaited him.

Will wasn’t falsely humble; he knew some people might consider him attractive. In Hannibal’s company, it was a difficult truth to avoid, and under his influence, Will had learned combine this with his empathy to become irresistibly charming in all sorts of helpful situations.

However, he could hardly see the immediate usefulness of his appearance now, beyond the compliments Vito and his two enthusiastic employees were lavishing _on_ _Hannibal_ , for his impeccable taste in both fashion and men. And as much as Hannibal was eating up every ounce of praise, the look he gave as he took in all of Will’s appearance indicated that his hunger was far from satisfied.

As Will felt colour flood to his cheeks at the overwhelming attention, he turned away, finding himself face to face with the triptych of mirrors.

“Ahh, shit,” Will huffed out, looking up, along the edge of the ceiling, anywhere but his inescapable reflection.

Hannibal was behind him in an instant.

“You cannot hide from your own loveliness, dear Will,” Hannibal whispered, placing one hand on Will’s right hip and while gently caressing Will’s cheek with the other. “Anymore than you can hide it from me.”

“You know that’s not it,” Will said through gritted teeth. They'd long-ago realized that they had to turn around or do away with reflective surfaces in any place they stayed in. “Even with the kind of volatile clientele I’m sure Vito keeps, I doubt he would take kindly to the trophy husband of one smashing his set of antique mirrors.”

Hannibal hummed, his touch soothing as he ignored Will’s protests. “You certainly are a prize to behold.”

Will scoffed, eyes still averted. “And yet one found wanting, clearly.”

Hannibal clicked his tongue disapprovingly at Will’s intonation.

“A painting may be enhanced by elegant framing, but this does not undermine its inherent beauty.”

“A painting is an object,” Will countered. “Are you enjoying your objectification of me, Dr. Lecter?”

A deep rumble passed from Hannibal to Will as the larger man pressed up behind him, gently but firmly turning Will’s head to the mirror. Will’s eyes immediately darted to catch Hannibal’s, the desire pulsing off him much easier to face than his own reflection.

“Entirely,” Hannibal’s voice was thick with smoke as his hand grazed over the soft sweater, perfectly along the line of the scar he’d outfitted Will with long ago. “Allow yourself to enjoy it as well.”

The attention, the affection, the arousal was all seeping into him, from Hannibal’s gaze and his embrace, and Will could feel his cock briefly stir with the intensity of it all.

His eyes finally settled back to his own face, and he took himself in fully. The sweater was quite flattering, pairing nicely with the well-fitted grey bottoms and bringing out a piercing blue tone in his eyes.

His gaze flickered only briefly to the faded scar on his right cheek, barely visible beneath his facial hair, but it was enough. As he had feared, the glass began to splinter in his mind.

“It’s happening,” Will said, a mixture of panic and resignation lacing his voice.

But he refused to look away. He knew it was pointless from their many attempts at exposure therapy; Hannibal would only bring his gaze back on himself if he tried to avert it.

“Please don’t force me to endure the Dragon through this as well.” Will gave a half-hearted smile, even as the splinter in the glass slowly grew and fractured. “We’re on holiday, remember?”

Hannibal lightly grazed his thumb along the stubble of Will’s cheek as he returned the smile in kind.

“You could always direct your thoughts to see yourself through my eyes,” Hannibal offered with a rare note of sympathy. “It would certainly make this easier for you.”

Will took a moment to consider this, allowing a sliver of Hannibal in, shifting between the two mindsets as one might shift the weight back and forth on either foot. Eventually closing his eyes and pushing both personalities away, Will shook his head and turned to face Hannibal.

“That degree of narcissism is just as dangerous,” he concluded dryly. “How about, for once, I trust you to be my reflection?”

While his face gave away nothing, Hannibal’s delight at this suggestion warmed Will more effectively than the sweater.

“I’d be honoured,” Hannibal said, nodding just once.

He took a step back and appraised Will’s outfit again with fresh eyes.

“Turn,” he said.

Will let slip a dark chuckle but did as he was told.

“Slower. Yes, good. Again. Thank you, Will. What do you think?”

This last question asked of the three other people that Will had completely forgotten in the attempt to overcome his uncharacteristic bashfulness, all of whom echoed their earlier sentiments. Hannibal internally measured their input, weighing it against his own, before turning back to Will.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Will tried to mask his impatience after a long, silent moment had passed.

Hannibal considered him fully. “How does it make you feel?”

Will didn’t need to search to hard for his answer.

“Refined yet casual,” he grinned, adding, “Perfectly balanced. How does it look?”

“Stunning,” Hannibal replied simply. “We’ll take it, but with a belt to match. Next?”

The remainder of the afternoon went over much more smoothly. Classical music echoed throughout the fitting room and they were each brought a glass of wine to accompany their efforts. Vito did little more than comment, making the odd suggestion here and there, but never daring to argue with or up-sell to Hannibal. Meanwhile, Bianca and Blaine were valued more for their tireless labour than their input, fetching items at Hannibal’s beck and call, running to the other room for anything that was needed, adjusting and pinning the clothing on Will in order to satisfy Hannibal’s rigorous specifications.

Through Hannibal’s direction, Will tried on countless items in a seemingly endless number of combinations. Sweaters, cardigans, button-downs, polos, dress-pants, dress-shorts, khakis…Will lost track of nearly every item he tried on, and couldn’t for the life of him remember which paired best with what. Luckily, Hannibal and his happy helpers kept track of the variety of assembled outfits. Some were accepted or rejected immediately, while others required time and vigorous debate before they were decided upon. Try as he might, Will could never quite predict what reception any particular garment might get from Hannibal, and that alone sent a quiet thrill through him.

When Will had first sought to ensnare Hannibal, he had tried to acquaint himself with finer fashions as an appeal to the man’s refined tastes. At the time, he’d seen it as necessary for his cover, even if he slowly grew to appreciate the increased quality of the newer items in his wardrobe. However, years on, even when Hannibal was incarcerated, Will had found himself still seeking out clothing with a cleaner cut, secretly wondering if Hannibal would approve of his choices rather than considering at all whether his wife would appreciate them.

He’d often dismissed the thoughts outright, assuming in every instance that if Hannibal had his way, he would simply dictate they wore matching suits. Will had certainly startled awake from that particular nightmare more than once.

But the reality, it turned out, was pleasantly unexpected; the items Hannibal had selected for him ahead of time were mostly classic, clean and simple. Will had not had to exercise his right to veto even once. It would seem Hannibal had thought to appeal to Will’s tastes, rather than Hannibal’s own bold flare for fashion; a level of consideration that Will found oddly touching.

Yet more intangible evidence of the monster’s subtle evolution.

For his part, Will forced himself to embrace the attention, soaking it in and playing it up for Hannibal’s amusement, slipping easily into the high-end runway model persona his counterpart wanted him to be. To Will’s surprise, once he’d overcome his self-consciousness, he found he rather enjoyed playing this part for him. After all, Hannibal had readily adopted a number of roles to assist in Will’s becoming; doctor, mentor, benefactor, partner, lover. Reciprocity was only fair.

Besides, Hannibal’s increasingly wanton desire as Will indulged this fantasy was thoroughly intoxicating. It was so much more satisfying to simply play along.

As they reached the final group items on the rack, Will stepped onto the platform with confidence, eyes still averted from the mirror as he posed and turned, having gotten the timing down well enough to no longer require direction. He watched as Hannibal’s eyes hungrily took in the three-piece suit, navy with hatched white lines creating a subtle checkering effect, by far the boldest outfit Will had been asked to try on.

It wasn’t quite outlandish enough to be something Hannibal would wear, but it wasn’t far off from it either.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Will commented wryly, “I’d think you found me more appetizing wearing this suit than if I wore nothing at all.”

Hannibal, having taken to reclining on one of the couches to maximize his comfort and enjoyment, was entirely too absorbed with appreciating Will’s appearance to acknowledge his comment right away.

“Both options are certainly tantalizing in their own right,” he admitted, eventually, breath slightly shallow as he absently licked his lips. “Although, I imagine think of only a few occasions where _this one_ would be inappropriate.”

Will grinned as he undid the button on his jacket, placing his hands in his pocket. He took a wide stance, freeing up his legs so the hem of his pants could be rolled up and pinned.

“Oh, I disagree,” Blaine said, voice low and tone light as he crouched to curl one of the cuffs, looking up the entire length of Will’s body from just below his waist. “I can imagine quite a number of occasions where both would be delectably suitable.”

The room went dead silent. Will wasn't sure if he imagined the sound of a record scratch.

The young associate had been mostly quiet the entire appointment, but as Will had become more relaxed and accepting, Blaine had grown confident in his assistance, and had been shooting Will increasingly suggestive looks that he clearly thought Hannibal wouldn’t notice.

He’d been wrong. Every single time. And the deadly gaze Hannibal was now aiming at the back of his head was proof enough that Blaine’s comment had not gone unheard.

Thanks to his empathy, Will couldn't help but feel flattered by the younger man’s attention, but remained wholly uninterested. So far, Hannibal was still Will’s only exception. However, given how well-behaved Will had been for the entire afternoon, he thought he’d earned the right to have a little fun.

“Blaine makes an excellent point, _darling._ ” Will’s tone was thick with amusement as he played up the ridiculous role he'd adopted for the afternoon. “I mean, you must have known when you picked this that it’s not exactly my style. And if I can just as easily incite the same reaction with or without this suit on, might as well save a few coins and go without. You’ve already been _so generous_. Hasn’t he, Blaine?”

Blaine swallowed thickly as he nodded, moving to pin the other cuff as he did so, thrilled to have Will’s attention at all. When the pin was firmly placed, Will stepped away, crossing his arms and leaning casually, appealingly on the stool that had been brought to the platform ages ago.

“You may wish to commit this image to the memory palace,” Will added teasingly, eyes flickering down to the young man only briefly before locking in on Hannibal. “Take a good look, because it’s the last time-”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Hannibal interjected, his voice clipped but cordial. Blaine startled a bit at the reminder of the older man’s presence, but to the other two, Hannibal was likely coming across as patient but firm. They couldn’t see what Will felt as tangibly as the smooth silk shirt that clung to his skin; Hannibal was seething.

"Quickly," he added.

A rush of excitement flooded Will’s senses as their company hastily sought the exit, not wanting to risk the wrath of the monster they knew their patron to be.

Within seconds, Hannibal was on him, hungrily seeking his mouth in a rough, passionate kiss. Will twisted against the imposing force in pleasure, devouring not only Hannibal’s desire but his jealousy and possessiveness with delight. Hannibal growled as he sought to lay claim to Will, running his hands along the inside of the open jacket and hooking his arm along Will’s lower back, fiercely tugging their bodies together.

“You’ll ruin the fabric,” Will huffed out between moans when his mouth was given a reprieve. Hannibal’s free hand snaked into Will’s neat curls, gripping firmly to tug his head back and allow access to his neck. While Hannibal lavished claiming kisses along the underside of Will’s jaw with no mind for the safety of his own lips against Will’s rough stubble, he was at least cautious enough to avoid the collar of the expensive silk shirt inches below.

Will could do nothing but lean harder where his was, his knuckles tightening on the edge of the stool, praying that he could withstand Hannibal’s onslaught without having them both collapse onto the hardwood of the platform.

Hannibal’s pent-up desire from Will’s entire afternoon-long display was pouring off him in waves, and as he ground his burgeoning hardness against Will’s stylishly clothed groin, Will was more than happy to soak it in and return it in kind. When Will risked bringing up a hand to bite his knuckle, trying to suppress a particularly loud moan at the friction that was rocketing through him like electricity, Hannibal tore his hand away and placed it back around the edge of the stool, bringing their mouths together again and swallowing the moan instead.

Will shuddered, panting and turning his head away as he felt Hannibal’s body shift enough to allow him to cup Will through his pants. Will’s length grew to full hardness under the ministration of the larger man’s hand, and with one swift motion, Hannibal had unbuttoned and unzipped him, pulling Will out while he was otherwise fully dressed in Hannibal’s favourite ensemble of the day.

“Stay still,” Hannibal instructed, sinking to his knees in the middle of the large fitting room, expertly stroking Will with one hand as his other ran reverently along the detailing of the suit, catching on buttons and hems, tracing the fabric his entire trip down. Once situated on his knees, looking up at Will the way what’s-his-name had moments before, his eyes more hungry than Will had ever seen, Hannibal ran free his hand along the inside of Will’s clothed thigh much more intimately than the sales associate would ever be allowed.

“Fuck,” Will grunted out as Hannibal’s mouth sealed around him, losing himself to the warm, damp heat as he gripped the stool harder and threw his head back, not bothering to suppress his groaning anymore. Hannibal wanted Will’s pleasure in this to be heard, and Will was certainly in no position to be denying him anything right now.

Hannibal’s mouth was relentless, working up and down the length of Will’s shaft with fevered intensity, pulling off to run the flat of his tongue along the underside of Will’s cock in an act that drew a litany of vulgarities. Tonguing the underside of Will’s head before tracing the slit, Hannibal stroked Will’s spit-slicked length with perfect precision before sinking his mouth back down and taking him in fully.

Will absently noted that as unrelentingly as Hannibal was treating Will’s exposed cock, he was being equally considerate of the expensive fabric that surrounded it. Even as he stroked Will’s thigh adoringly, he did so with care, conscious of not bunching or pulling in any way that may leave the suiting less than perfect. He’d even slowed his mouth to catch stray trails of spit that threatened to pool at the base of Will’s groin, lest they sink into the delicate fibers.

Even as Will could feel his release building inside him, he chuckled at this, wondering how deep Hannibal’s respect for the integrity of the suit ran.

As frequent and varied as their sexual exploits had become since Will had stopped resisting his craving for them, Hannibal had yet to penetrate him, holding to his promise that he would only do so when Will begged for it. Will had, of course, happily taken the challenge in stride, refusing to beg for as long as he could withhold himself from doing so. He hadn’t broken down once, not even during the hour-long rimming session that Hannibal had cruelly lavished on him the night before, which had left his entire body screaming at him to wave the white flag and give in.

Will amused himself with the thought of finally surrendering now, begging Hannibal to fuck him right there and then, in the suit, and see whether his desire to claim victory or his respect for fashion won out in the end.

The thought quickly vacated his mind as Hannibal brought his release forth and Will was seeing white behind his eyes, moaning as he pumped his seed into Hannibal’s waiting, eager mouth. Hannibal devoured every last drop, tongue cleaning his length thoroughly as waves of pleasure pulsed through Will. Just before he reached the point of oversensitivity, Hannibal tucked him cleanly back into his briefs, pulling up the zipper and hooking the buttons back in.

As he rose to stand, he adjusted Will’s suit back to perfection before seizing the younger man’s face and kissing him ravenously, making no effort to hide his need for Will to taste his own pleasure on Hannibal’s tongue. Will didn’t bother to ask why he didn’t feel Hannibal’s own orgasm echo through him or if he wanted Will to help finish him off; the unspoken _mine_ that radiated off Hannibal, both possessive and prideful, let Will know this had been more about marking his territory than relieving any brimming sexual tension.

There would be plenty of time later for the latter, after all.

“Okay,” Will sighed, exasperated but playful. “I’ll spoil you and allow you to buy me the suit as well.”

Hannibal’s only reply was to chase his lips with another kiss.

“It would be rude not to take it, anyway,” Will continued, lacing his hand in Hannibal’s and bringing both to his hip. “Seeing as you've already made me sweat buckets in it and we haven't even left the shop.”

“What’s rude is the brash flirtation that was brazenly attempted in my presence,” Hannibal growled, his voice still rough with taking Will so enthusiastically. “A flirtation encouraged by someone who could surely anticipate the various outcomes of such discourtesy. That’s participation, Will.”

Will rolled his eyes and sunk his head into Hannibal’s chest, willing his heartbeat to slow to match the larger man’s.

“Don’t kill him,” Will sighed, unable to hide a note of affection from his otherwise detached tone. “We only have enough room in the hotel’s mini-fridge for one, and I assume we're still going hunting tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m not going to kill him,” Hannibal said, petting Will’s curls and tracing his fingers up the smaller man’s spine. “Not yet. We'll need his assistance as you still have an entire rack of coats to try on in the other room.”

Will grunted as his shoulders slumped. “Christ, you're insatiable.”

“But I’ll withhold on your behalf, if you wish,” Hannibal relented. “You have been otherwise most cooperative today. Thank you, genuinely, for granting me this.”

Will smirked as he closed his eyes, pulling Hannibal closer into a warm, affectionate embrace.

“Merry Christmas, you crazy son of a bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> [illyriashell.tumblr.com](http://illyriashell.tumblr.com/)


End file.
